


A Gale On the Mountainside

by EPS (Lillian_Shepherd)



Series: The Grand Tour [1]
Category: Garrison's Gorillas
Genre: Be warned that I don't normally warn., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:29:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Shepherd/pseuds/EPS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How well does he know you?" Garrison asked.</p><p>"Now... not at all.  Once, though... we were close friends.  He knows my real name – which even the US government does not – my background..."</p><p>"Would he know you're a conman?"</p><p>"I don't think so."</p><p>"Our job is to take him out, to put the snatch on him or, if that isn't possible, to kill him."  Garrison's eyes were steady on Actor's.  "If you think you won't be able to handle that, tell me now."</p><p>Actor didn't know.  What he did know was that Garrison was ready to leave him behind, and that would put him, and Vincente, in even more danger.  "I can handle it," he said.</p><p>Garrison was still staring into his face – trying to see behind his habitual mask, Actor knew.  Deliberately, he smiled.  "Twenty years is a long time, Warden; enough to turn me into a conman and him into a Fascist politician.  Besides, he can't get me a parole at the end of the war, can he?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Gale On the Mountainside

**Author's Note:**

> Bad things happen in war. Expect them.

_England 1943_

 

Actor sat back and sucked on his pipe-stem with a slight feeling of superfluity. Smoke from three cigarettes was already drifting across the beam from the projector as Chief pulled the heavy drapes closed. Casino and Goniff were running verbal interference which Garrison was, as usual, ignoring as he sat hitched on the table, fiddling with the projector. He liked to start a mission in an orderly fashion, even if he knew it was unlikely to stay that way for long.

"So where is it this time?" Casino demanded, tilting back his chair and resting his heels on the ancient and battered table.

"Italy."

"Does that mean I have to try an' speak the blasted lingo again? I tell ya, Warden, someone's gonna rumble me sooner or later."

"You shouldn't have to speak any Italian this trip. Even Actor's going to pretend he only knows how to order a bottle of wine."

The mention of booze attracted Goniff's attention. "How come? Hey, Warden, can't you think up something simple for once?" he asked plaintively. "You know, less likely to get us killed."

"Now, Goniff, how often have I gotten you killed?"

Casino snorted. "Gotcha there, buddy. So what's not gonna get Goniff killed this time?"

Actor liked watching Garrison as he juggled people as touchy as Casino, as hot-tempered as Chief or as nervous as Goniff with the same deftness as his long fingered hands handled a knife or gun – or the cranky old projector.

A born conman.

Actor had begun to wish, more and more wistfully, that he'd met Garrison before he came under the influence of the Army, when he'd been impressionable enough to be moulded into the ideal partner.

As it was, all that nerve and brilliance and natural acting ability, not to mention their understanding that came close to telepathy, was going to be lost to him when the war ended. It was a prospect he viewed with less and less enthusiasm.

The click of a slide going into the projector drew him from his brooding. He'd missed Garrison's answer to Casino's question, probably to several questions, and would have to catch up on the details from the others later, unless he'd been so unfortunate as to let the Lieutenant notice his inattention.

"This is our target," Garrison was saying. "He's due to meet with Hitler's agent in three days, only if we move fast enough Actor will take the place of the agent and I – Actor? What is it?"

Actor hardly heard him.

The years had dealt kindly with Vincente; his hair was still black, his skin less lined than Actor's own, for all his extra six years, still slender and lithe, still beautiful...

"Actor, do you know him?"

In all the senses of the word.

"Yes," Actor managed, trying to keep his voice level and hearing the strain in it.

Garrison's was suddenly urgent: "And would he recognise you?"

Somehow, Actor gathered up all his faculties, schooled his face to show nothing more than the polite attention due to his commanding officer, and said: "It has been over twenty years but yes, he would remember me, I think."

"I see." Garrison slid off the edge of the table and began to pace.

"What's our interest in him, Warden?" Casino asked.

"His name's Vincente Gardelli. He's a Fascist politician who owns a number of munitions factories which have continued to produce weapons in great quantity. During the strikes earlier in the year Mussolini placed him in charge of munitions production for the whole of Italy – and he's quelled all incipient strikes and tripled outputs. He's respected and feared throughout Northern Italy. Now, right at this moment, we're negotiating with the King and his ministers for an armistice."

"Ah, we're going to invade the mainland," Actor commented. "Soon?"

"Maybe. Anyhow, if the Armistice comes into force, the Germans are likely to retaliate by installing a puppet government, the way they did with Vichy France. They're thinking seriously about Gardelli and we can think of no-one more dangerous for them to choose."

 _Vincente? Hitler_ was thinking of _Vincente_ as a replacement for _Mussolini?_

"If he'll recognise Actor, we'll have to change our plans," Garrison decided. "The rest of you go grab a coffee while Actor and I talk this through and see what we can salvage."

 

Actor's pipe had gone out. He took the cigarette Garrison offered him with a hand he was pleased to note was still steady.

"How well does he know you?" Garrison asked.

"Now... not at all. Once, though... we were close friends. He knows my real name – which even the US government does not – my background..."

"Would he know you're a conman?"

"I don't think so."

"Our job is to take him out, to put the snatch on him or, if that isn't possible, to kill him." Garrison's eyes were steady on Actor's. "If you think you won't be able to handle that, tell me now."

Actor didn't know. What he did know was that Garrison was ready to leave him behind, and that would put him, and Vincente, in even more danger. "I can handle it," he said.

Garrison was still staring into his face – trying to see behind his habitual mask, Actor knew. Deliberately, he smiled. "Twenty years is a long time, Warden; enough to turn me into a conman and him into a Fascist politician. Besides, he can't get me a parole at the end of the war, can he?"

"No." Garrison was silent for a moment. Now it was Actor's turn to stare into his face. No doubt the others were already discussing whether or not he could be trusted; their opinions, while they could hurt him, ultimately did not matter. Garrison's did. It was only at the moment that he said, "Okay," that Actor realised how much.

"All the same," he went on, "it means a change of plan. You're going to have to use your real name and background, be the man he knew only twenty years on. If you can persuade him to trust you, there's a much better chance I won't have to kill him."

Actor nodded, and drew another deep breath of smoke, grateful for Garrison's understanding, but also comprehending the implications. "Okay."

"Which means—"

"You have to know too." Actor smiled. "There's no reason you shouldn't, Warden. It's simply that 'Actor' is who I am now... and I've gotten into the habit of not talking about the past. Vincente knew me as Leonzio Rondelli which is the only name I have a right to. I met him in Paris. My mother, who was French, wanted me to go to the Sorbonne and study Law – don't laugh, please."

"I doubt if you'd've ended up any less crooked than you are now," Garrison said, with a smile that drew some of the tension out of Actor.

"More so, if most of the lawyers who've represented me are anything to go by. I didn't study Law, but English and German until the money ran out... That's not important. Vincente was studying politics. As Italians, we were drawn together, then became friends. He was exciting to be with... and I was discovering Paris... and its underworld. Then..." Then, Vincente had wanted him to go back to Italy with him, but there had been more excitement to be had in Paris. And he had met Juliette, who had taught him how to use his talents, and that, on the whole, women were more satisfying bed mates than men.

Actor shrugged. "I fell in with really bad company: started my career in crime, in effect. Vincente went back to Italy. We never saw each other again."

"Okay," Garrison said. "This is how we'll play it. I'll take the role I originally intended for you, that of Horst Volhard, the political agent Hitler is sending to negotiate with Gardelli. You'll be my Italian interpreter. You've lived in Germany for years, have ingratiated yourself with the Nazi hierarchy, and you have explained to me that you know Vincente. Is there any reason he wouldn't swallow that?"

"None at all, unless Volhard speaks Italian."

"Badly," Garrison said. "Worse than I do. Your friend Vincente will have his own interpreters present. I need to make a couple of phone calls to get papers prepared in hurry. For that I'll need your full name, and place and date of birth."

"No secrets left to me," Actor said mournfully, reaching for a sheet of paper and taking a fountain pen from his pocket.

Please God he was wrong.

 

 _Italy, 1943_

 

It was a lot warmer in Italy, in all senses of the word. Almost the first thing they had to do on arrival was to catch and then dispose of the real Volhard and if that should cause more dissension among the Axis powers, so much the better.

Despite Garrison's promise back at their English HQ, Casino was once again going to have to show off his Italian, though this time Actor had written the script for him.

They had all acquired the uniforms they now wore with the – relative – ease that came of practice. Actor's protests that they ought to have their own uniforms tailored before they went on a mission having been, as always, ignored. His own suspicion was that Garrison liked the chance to diminish the opposition even by so small a number as five – but then _he_ wasn't taller than ninety-nine percent of the German or Italian armies.

Now Actor, in the uniform of an Italian Colonel whose legs had been three inches shorter than his, and whose collar was at least three sizes larger, sat beside Garrison, equally elevated within the SS, in the back of a staff car parked at an angle across the country road. Goniff lounged at the wheel. Casino, enjoying his role as Actor's _aide de camp_ to the full, strutted back and forth in the cypress-striped sunlight with all the arrogance of an ancient Roman centurion amid the barbarians. Chief was watching him with his usual air of faint amusement, gun rock steady in his hands. Suddenly, his head lifted. "They're comin'," he stated, some ten seconds before Actor heard the sound of an engine beneath the louder hum of the cicadas.

As the staff car appeared, Casino turned towards it and raised his hand. In the score of times they had done this before, no-one had tried to run any of them down, but there was always a first time, and Casino was watching the car warily. His caution proved to be unjustified. The vehicle stopped within speaking distance, and Casino launched into his script. It was the cue for Actor to prepare to alight, as Garrison stealthily unshipped a submachine gun.

His own arrival at the car would be the signal for mayhem.

Actor sighed, adjusted his hat, and sauntered over.

 

When the staff car and its motor cycle escort was flagged down at the German checkpoint another three miles along the road, Actor was again sitting beside Garrison, but both wore civilian clothes.

The _Oberlieutnant_ who examined their papers was polite, but made it clear that _Herr_ Volhard must speak with a local German commander called Major Maehler before proceeding to see _Signore_ Gardelli.

Chief and Casino and Goniff, whose papers identified them as members of a _Wehrmacht_ division quartered twenty miles away near the airfield, were ordered to return there.

None of them understood a word, but a minute jerk of Garrison's head, and a nod in answer to Chief's lifted eyebrows, sent them on their way.

As it would have been far too dangerous for them to stay at Gardelli's villa, the plan had always been for them to leave at that point and so their early departure inconvenienced no-one. Unless you could choose to interpret it as an omen or at the very least an indication that the mission was no longer proceeding according to plan.

 

Major Maehler was an affable man who provided them with good brandy and what was plainly sound advice. "I have been told of your mission and ordered to extend every courtesy, _Herr_ Volhard," he explained, "but I must say that I must query the wisdom of an alliance with _Signore_ Gardelli."

"Why?" Garrison asked. "Our information – from inside the Italian government – is that his power base is strong and growing, among both the military and the politicians."

"That may be so, but he makes me nervous," the Major said. "I don't know why, but my skin crawls in his presence, and not just when I have to sit beside him in one of his infernal vehicles. So I am providing you with an escort, _mein herren_. They will stay to guard you. I have so informed _Signore_ Gardelli."

Garrison could do nothing but acquiesce.

 

Actor always felt nervous before the start of a con. Usually, the feeling disappeared just as soon as he spoke the first words in his new persona. This time, though, the trembling in his stomach and thighs did not lessen as their beautifully forged papers and sheer chutzpah carried them through line after line of guards and into Vincente Gardelli's closely guarded HQ. What made it worse was that Garrison seemed unaffected.

He hoped the Lieutenant's confidence was justified. For all his talent, Garrison had never played this kind of rôle before. His training made him a natural for military parts – where Actor was willing to defer to him – and he seemed to have a instinctive feel for criminal ones that probably came from watching too many gangster movies, but, as far as Actor knew, he had no experience of the sort of subtle political manoeuvrings that would be meat and drink to Volhard.

Actor would have been much happier if they could have followed Garrison's original plan placing him in that role, if only because Volhard was thirty-four years old – only three years younger than he was – while Garrison was nearly ten years younger still.

Stop worrying about that. Garrison had the sort of face that would look much the same from twenty to fifty and he could produce the gravity of man far beyond his years. Vincente probably didn't know how old Volhard was anyway and if he did know what he actually looked like (thin and dark eyed, with receding hair and a nearly non-existent nose – almost the exact opposite of Garrison, in fact) they would be dead within the hour.

Yet even if he knew nothing of Volhard's appearance, even if everything from now on worked with the precision of Garrison's wildest and most brilliant plans, did he want the Lieutenant to meet Vincente, for any number of reasons? If it came to the point, was he sure he wanted to meet him again himself?

The villa was high in the Apennines, and was large enough to be mistaken for a small village with its rows of outbuildings and barracks. The house itself was built in an outrageously grotesque Baroque style, with towers and spires popping up in unexpected positions, and lots of horrid _putti_ that made Actor long for a chance at target practice.

It was plain that Vincente's taste had not become any more refined over the years. That was one of the things they had argued about. Now he came to think about it, there had been many things they had argued about, and he had often been as apprehensive about meeting his lover then as he was now.

He came close to jumping as Garrison's hand closed on his arm in a gesture that was meant to reassure. It bothered Actor even more, that his nervousness should be so apparent...

The car stopped below an imposing double-curved stone stairway, and the driver came round to open the door, as a group of Italian officers descended towards them.

Actor took a deep breath and followed Garrison who was already extending his hand to the very pretty young Italian Captain who was greeting him.

 

The very pretty captain was called Carlo Ruffolo. He showed them into Vincente's empty office and informed them that _Signore_ Gardelli would be with them in but a few moments, a sentiment that Actor dutifully translated.

Garrison nodded, betraying his own tension in his curtness, and in the way he paced the room as the time stretched out, glancing at the books, the contents of the desk, the small collection of antiquities in a glass-fronted cabinet, and out of the window into the incongruously geometric and carefully tended garden. He was watched with interest by Captain Ruffolo, who had waved his companions out of the room with an air of ownership that suggested he was thoroughly at home there. Actor began to speculate about his relationship with the man they had come to meet.

When Vincente came striding through the door he did not look at either the Captain or Actor, but at Garrison, who was still turned away at the window, standing idly slapping his gloves against the palm of one hand. Actor's old friend's eyes immediately fixed on his neat buttocks with an expression of lustful appreciation.

Actor felt a surge of fury, an urge to knock Vincente right through the window.

Which was stupid. It was the first thing he had thought himself, when he had been ushered into that bare room in Alcatraz: _what a lovely ass_. But he had shoved the thought aside. That part of his life was history – and he, at least, had had the excuse of not having seen a single woman over the previous year...

Besides, he had soon forgotten about it. Garrison also had a voice that would be a gift to any conman: soft and deep with a faint hint of roughness that said, "Trust me." He knew how to use it, too. Actor, who was fascinated by voices, could have listened to it for hours. And then there was Chief, whose backside was even more sexy than Garrison's, though no man in his right mind would consider trying to bed Chief, while...

What the hell was he thinking...?

And where had his mind been while Vincente was speaking, for Garrison was now shaking hands with him, saying in that spellbinding voice, using careful French that gave the impression of having been learned specially for the occasion, "...my interpreter, _Herr_ Rondelli."

Actor bowed slightly as Vincente turned towards him, with an expression of speculation and astonishment combined. Actor let a small smile show. "I am _so_ pleased to meet you at last," he said, in Italian, as he had done all those years ago. "I have heard a great deal –"

"Leonzio, you scoundrel!" Vincente flung his arms around Actor, and they hugged each other and kissed cheeks with enthusiasm, all the time talking volubly and not really listening to each other.

Garrison might speak Italian rather better than Horst Volhard, but even so he would not be able to follow this. Just as well, as some of Vincente's comments were distinctly near the knuckle.

"But what are you doing here?" Actor's old friend finally got around to asking.

"Interpreting," Actor said. "My job." Then, as Vincente looked towards Garrison, who was watching with a smile, he added, "When I told _Herr_ Volhard that I knew you, he insisted that I come along."

Garrison said, in German, "Tell him that we can both trust you."

When Actor translated this, Vincente grinned tigerishly. "With the negotiations, perhaps. Not with my lovers, eh?"

Thanking God that the word he used did not differentiate between the sexes, Actor gave Vincente a warning look. "I see you have not changed."

Vincente leered at him. "Not at all."

If he had not, it must be Actor himself who had changed, as he had originally told Garrison, because – to his own surprise – he felt no particular attraction for the man now.

 

The dinner conversation was conducted in French, with Garrison's – fractured to start with – assuming more and more Germanic constructions as the evening wore on. It was a bravura performance, which Actor watched with the appreciation of a connoisseur though, as intermediary, he was careful to translate exactly when Garrison slipped back into German or requested his help with something he professed not to understand.

Vincente had dismissed his own translator, claiming that "my dear friend Leonzio" was good enough for both of them. Actor himself suspected that Vincente at least understood more German than he was letting on. Garrison certainly understood more Italian.

The situation was so ridiculous that he had to smother a smile. Vincente was oozing charm from every pore and, despite himself, Actor began to feel the stirrings of an ancient fascination.

Garrison and Vincente skirted the main issue like two fierce dogs meeting for the first time, Actor standing in the middle with soft words he was not sure either heeded. Every now and them one of them would make a feint towards discussing the topic that had brought Volhard here, and watch to see the other's reaction.

Had he really been worried that Garrison couldn't cope with this? The man might have been born to it.

It was, as they had hoped, Vincente who brought up the subject of his automobile collection. Central to Garrison's plans for putting the snatch on its owner, the collection had been looted from a number of famous factories and included one of the only half dozen _Tifones_ that had ever been built. This vehicle was the key to their plan. Vincente apparently liked to show it off to visitors, driving it at speed round the hairpins of the local mountains.

This time, something he did not expect would be waiting for him.

"You must come for a ride with me tomorrow," Vincente purred over the brandy, eyes fixed on Garrison's face as he leaned forward across the table. Actor devoutly hoped that the Lieutenant did not realise their target was flirting with him.

"I have heard about your most interesting collection," Garrison replied, with the steely charm that was so perfect for Volhard, if not for himself. "Leonzio has told me how interested you are in all that goes fast—"

Playing with fire, except that Actor was certain the remark was made in complete innocence.

Vincente leaned a little closer, so much so that he was in danger of upsetting the glasses. "We will go for a drive in the morning... take a champagne breakfast high into the mountains to celebrate our mutual interests, eh, _Herr_ Volhard? Horst, if I may call you that."

"That sounds good," Garrison said.

"But for now I must show you the collection. Come. Come. Bring your wine. You must tell me more about your plans for meeting any Allied invasion." One hand on Garrison's shoulder, the other waving a full wineglass, Vincente ushered them out of the villa towards one of the outbuildings.

 

The cars were guarded by a huge, bear-like man, who Vincente greeted, appropriately enough, as Bruno. He seemed a little too familiar for a standard mechanic.

Vincente had always liked big, powerful men. Like Actor himself, when he had also had youth on his side. Like Garrison. Actor hoped that he was more interested in German political backing than sex, otherwise there could be real trouble. He had to find an opportunity to warn him off, and soon.

The _Tifone_ stood in pride of place before the big doors. If it had an engine to match the length of its hood then, Actor supposed, it probably could make the 150 mph claimed for it. Its lines were all extravagant curves, with too much chrome for conservative tastes, and Vincente – totally in character – had had it painted in purple and gold. Imperial colours. Actor wondered if Mussolini had been for the obligatory ride in its sumptuously upholstered seats, and what he had thought about it. Vincente's ambitions were showing.

As Garrison circled the car in quite genuine interest, Vincente drew Actor aside. "What's he like in bed, Leonzio?" Then, before Actor could gather his wits to reply. "I tell you, _caro_ , that I intend to find out. You cannot keep him to yourself."

Actor stared at him in what should have been total astonishment – but which he was startled to find was not. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Vincente snorted his derision. "Even twenty years ago you did not know how to play the innocent; remember, share and share alike, eh, Leon?" He slapped Actor happily on the shoulder. "You can borrow Carlo. A pity you are not exactly my type anymore, but then, to judge by _Herr_ Volhard, I am not yours."

"He isn't—" Actor broke in, but Vincente waved him to silence.

"I am not blind, Leonzio. I have seen the way you look at him."

"You may not be blind but I am afraid your imagination is overexcited," Actor responded. "Listen, Vincente, don't try it on with him or—"

"Ah, there you both are," Garrison said, in an appalling mixture of bad French and good German. "I think for a little while you hide from me, eh?" He nudged Vincente in the ribs with one elbow.

Actor wanted to hit him. Instead, he threw him a warning look over Vincente's head. Only by then it was too late.

Vincente's face held an expression of pure malice: "But Leonzio and I are such old friends, Horst," he purred, moving in on Garrison, who began to retreat almost imperceptibly until stopped by the _Tifone's_ waist-high wheel-arch. "I taught him all he knows... and we used to share... everything."

It was not often that Actor saw Garrison confused, but there was no doubt that he hadn't really understood what Vincente meant.

He certainly did understand it when Vincente's hand snaked out to grip his left buttock.

Until that moment, Actor had been mesmerised by approaching catastrophe. Now he started forward, with a "No!" that might have been aimed at Vincente – who had no idea of his danger – or Garrison...

Who grabbed Vincente's hand and twisted it until the bones creaked. "In Germany we have ways of dealing with perverts like you," he snarled, in German, and Actor was sure that the shake in his voice was genuine. Vincente had rattled him: another first. "Maybe we should introduce them here, eh?"

Vincente whimpered, clawing at Garrison's wrist, which Actor could have told him was futile. "Leonzio... stop him...."

That was unfortunate, from Actor's point of view, because it reminded Garrison of his presence. "Rondelli, you will tell this Italian pig to keep his hands to himself. And I tell you, I am... not pleased... that you did not do so earlier – or warn me what to expect." With a final scorching glare at Actor, Garrison stormed out of the garage, slamming the door in his wake. Vincente watched him in horror, massaging the wrist that was probably only sprained, not fractured.

Which meant that Garrison, at least, had been in control of himself.

"I did try to warn you," Actor said. "He is _not_ my lover. I haven't had a male lover... for some time." He had been going to say, "Since you," but that would have given Vincente entirely the wrong impression. "It is not... safe... in Germany now."

"I have heard otherwise," Vincente said.

Actor shrugged. "The very powerful always do as they please. Meanwhile, I had better go and try to smooth over Horst's feelings... if you want to salvage the situation, that is."

"He... hurt me."

Vincente had always wanted to be the one doing the hurting, Actor remembered. It made it easier to tell him the truth. "He could have killed you. You are lucky he did not – perhaps he did not want to report that to _Der Führer_. He certainly will not want to report failure."

"Then don't let him, Leon. I'm relying on you."

Typical of Vincente, Actor thought grimly. Put the blame – and the responsibility – on someone else.

"So is Horst," Actor said. "I will see what can be done."

 

Garrison wasn't in his room, or Actor's, for which the latter was silently relieved. He needed some time to think through what he was going to say. Especially if Garrison had also had time to think about what had happened before he came looking for answers.

So he made his way back to the terrace, hitched a hip on the stone balustrade, lit his pipe, and stared out at the moonlit Euclidean shapes of the trees in the garden below.

Unfortunately, he hadn't had time to do more than contemplate his ill-luck and the useful words in every European language he knew to describe it, when a tall shadow came silently towards him out of the darkness, the only light about it the red glow of a cigarette. Actor knew who it was even before it spoke. "You," said Garrison's familiar voice, in German, "have got some explaining to do."

"Yes, I know." Though Actor still hoped that some secrets would be left to him.

"I've been thinking about this. Gardelli believes..." Garrison took a steadying draw at his cigarette, "that you and I are... lovers." He'd plainly bitten back a more insulting word. "I presume he got that idea from you."

"Far from it. I told him you weren't queer, but he didn't believe me."

"Why not?"

Actor looked frantically for a simple or complex lie, and found neither. Only the truth would suffice. "Because you are young and attractive and have given the impression that you are my friend. And because, long ago, Vincente and I were lovers."

In the pallid moonlight, Actor could see that Garrison's lips were pressed together, the corners of his mouth folded in, making him look grim and far older than his years. "So finally I get the truth – or is it the whole truth, Leonzio?"

Actor felt himself beginning to flush. "I haven't seen him for nearly twenty years and after I discovered girls I didn't have another male lover—"

"I'm not interested in your sex life. I've always wondered how much you really trusted me. I guess I've finally found out."

The scorn was a red-hot dart aimed at Actor's heart. "It's not something I'm proud of, dammit," he snapped, then added, more quietly, "or something that I wished to admit to you. Your good opinion... means something to me."

Garrison said nothing, but his eyes, all pupil in the dimness, were watchful.

He probably doesn't believe me. Indeed, why should he?

Actor couldn't stop the bitter words – after all, what did it matter anymore? – though he kept his voice low. They were no longer for the ears of any putative eavesdroppers, or even Horst Volhard: "You already know I am a conman, a convict and a liar—"

Garrison looked alarmed. "Actor..." he whispered, in warning.

"I was – am – not sure that you would also accept that I am a disgusting pervert."

"Did I say that?" Garrison asked sharply.

"Do you deny you're disgusted?"

"I don't know, dammit!" There was anger in Garrison's fierce whisper and behind it, hurt. "I am... disappointed... that you'd risk the mission and our lives rather than trust me not to blame you for something that happened when you were just a kid. If you'd told me that this was what Gardelli was likely to do, I would have responded differently, perhaps been able to lure him out of here alone..."

Actor was both incredulous and horrified at the idea of Garrison trying to vamp Vincente. He didn't believe he was capable of it – and if Vincente had actually gotten his hands on him..." Then I'm glad I didn't tell you. That would have been far too dangerous."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"Too late. It's not a situation that can be recovered."

Garrison glared at him, and ground his cigarette against the wall in a way that suggested it was a substitute for Actor's neck. "What the hell did you ever see in him?"

Actor winced. "I'm not asking you to understand..." he said, wondering, even as he did so, at the oddness of the question.

"Good, because I don't."

There was a short pause, in which both of them tried to catch their breath and their tempers. Then Garrison ran a hand over his hair and shook his head. When he looked at Actor, all his anger was hidden, though Actor was not fool enough to think it had dissipated. "Okay. We need to get him out of here or we'll have to kill him. In the circumstances, I take it you'd still prefer the former?"

In fact, Actor was no longer certain he would, but before he could sort out his mixed feelings, Garrison was demanding, "And he still trusts you?"

"Yes," Actor said, warily. "I think so. I'm supposed to be talking you round right now."

Garrison grinned like a wolf. "Okay. We play the cards we've got. One way or another, he needs to win me over, or he loses any chance of the top job in Italy. You have to help him."

"He may have you killed instead."

"That would really blow any chance he had with Hitler. Setting you aside, there are always Major Maehler's men."

His voice suddenly lifted in a shout of anger that could certainly be heard by the guards, and probably through the open French doors of the villa. "No! I will not listen to this, Rondelli. If I am merely to assume the man cannot hold his liquor, I expect a personal and profound apology. If not, you may tell him that his behaviour will be reported to both the German and Italian governments when we leave at dawn. Alert Major Maehler's men to be ready. Good night."

He stalked off towards the villa.

Actor watched him go, feeling frightened and old. He was expected to pick this up, to play along with Vincente as Garrison supposed he should have done, when what he really wanted to do was to drag Garrison into a staff car – at gunpoint if necessary – and drive straight to the rendezvous point.

Instead, he rose to his feet and went to carry out his orders.

 

When Actor finally arrived in Vincente's study, he found his ex-lover pacing the floor, puffing furiously on a cigarette. Three more smouldered in an ashtray. Actor appropriated one of them, as Vincente asked, "Well?"

"Being German, he does not appreciate your Italian sense of humour."

Vincente did not respond to the opportunity for some racial denigration. "Leonzio, you have to help me," he said decisively, abandoning the cigarette in the ashtray and reaching in his pocket for another. "If Volhard reports back to Hitler what happened, it is a great opportunity lost—"

"Perhaps you should have thought of that before you propositioned him?".

"Have you been castrated, that you can resist that ass?" Vincente waved a dismissive hand. "That's not important. What is is that if the King sells us out to the Americans – and he very well might – if I cannot go to the Nazis..." He made an expressive cutting motion across his throat with one finger.

Actor said: "If Horst gives you his word not to speak of this, you can trust it."

Vincente shook his head. "You were always far too ready to believe in people, Leonzio. Face facts: he is an uptight Nazi bastard who will never willingly let you into his pants. Neither you nor I can take the risk of this getting back to the German government. There is too much at stake: our reputations and perhaps our lives. I say 'our' because if Volhard hasn't guessed that we were lovers I'm going to make sure that he or someone else in the German high command finds out."

Actor said: "He already knows."

"So, we have to get him out of the way before he can report any of it to _Herr_ Hitler, and so _you_ can tell him instead that I'm just the person he needs."

It had been years since Actor had felt this much panic. Damn Vincente – and damn Garrison for putting both their lives in this danger. He had an awful feeling that his old lover might be able to read that thought too. He said, "Vincente, you're crazy. If Volhard dies here, the Germans will simply destroy you. Major Maehler does not trust you and his men would report to him. Do not think for a moment that they would take my word in such circumstances: I am still a foreigner and not one of their beloved _Volksdeutsche—_ "

"No, no, no. We cannot kill him here. We need to arrange it most carefully... You must persuade him to come out with me as planned."

"He won't go anywhere with you," Actor said, wishing it were true. But this was just what Garrison had been aiming for.

Surprisingly, Vincente nodded. "That's your job, Leon. You always were so good at persuading people to do things they did not want to do. People trust you. Once we have him in the hills, a little dose of our old reliable sleepy-bye powder should do the trick. Just like at the _Orinoco_ club, eh? When that so-pretty young gendarme arrived without an escort..."

Actor had forgotten the incident until this moment, had pushed it to the very depths of his memory. It was not something he had ever liked to remember about Vincente, that he had not been above sedating personable heterosexual young men if they rejected him.

"How do you propose to get him to drink it?" Actor asked.

Vincente chuckled. "Who refuses Champagne? Besides," he tapped his nose with one finger. "Remember Sherlock Holmes: I have my methods. After all, it would be a pity not to take advantage of that beautiful body while it's still warm, eh?"

"You're very sure I'm going to help you."

"Why not? You'll get your turn. Don't try to tell me you don't want him, Leonzio."

Only if he wants me.

"You seem to have it all worked out," Actor said mildly. Though it sickened him, he bent down and kissed his ex-lover on the cheek. "Same old Vincente. What makes you think you can trust me after all this time, _caro?_ "

Vincente hooked an arm round Actor's neck and pulled him back down. His own kiss was on the mouth, hard, the way he had always kissed. He bit down on Actor's lower lip, drawing blood. "Because you have always done as I asked, haven't you, Leon?"

I didn't come back with you to Italy. But... if I hadn't had somewhere to hide... somewhere, someone you never knew about...

But I'm no longer that malleable adolescent. You have a lot to learn about me, Vincente.

As if he had heard that thought, Vincente went on, "But I think we'll have a little insurance, _caro_. Your gun, please." He held out his hand. As Actor unwillingly put his pistol into it, he raised his voice to call for Bruno and Carlo.

This unlikely pair searched Actor with thoroughness and obvious enjoyment but, though they took his spare clips to the now-empty gun, they did not find the tempered-steel spike hidden in the thick seam of his jacket sleeve.

Garrison's original plan had entailed him jabbing it into a tyre of Vincente's car, creating a slow puncture that would have meant the vehicle would come to a halt high in the mountains at the furthest point from the villa, where Chief and the others would be waiting, ready to pick off any guards, a process that would provide the opportunity for Actor and Garrison to take control of the car – and Vincente.

Maybe... it might still work. The other three were free in the mountains. If the car stopped within range of their rifles he did not give much for Vincente's chances.

"Bruno, collect the hamper and bring the car round. Make sure the Champagne is properly chilled and that there is plenty of ice and also that you have your gun. We will go and call for _Herr_ Volhard."

"For Heaven's sake, Vincente, it's five o'clock in the morning," Actor protested.

"Nonsense," Vincente said. "It will soon be dawn, and I am abject with sorrow and embarrassment. I must apologise now."

 

"Who is it?" Garrison's voice asked when they knocked at the door of his room.

"Leonzio," Actor replied, knowing that the name itself would warn him. "I have _Signore_ Gardelli with me. He wishes to apologise to you."

"One moment."

Garrison had not undressed but, though he was in his shirtsleeves and his feet were bare, he did not lose an ounce of dignity by it. He looked at Vincente with suspicion. When Vincente stared guilelessly back, Actor was sure his eyes rested a little too long on the vulnerable – and, now he noticed it himself, quite beautiful – throat revealed by the open collar.

Vincente's apology was charming. He had been drunk. It had been a bad joke. _Herr_ Volhard must excuse his Italian exuberance. It would not happen again.

Garrison accepted the apology stiffly, making it clear that he was grateful that Vincente was keeping his distance.

"Now," Vincente said, with his largest smile, "prove to me we are friends again and join me in a drive out into the mountains for breakfast, as we planned."

Garrison pretended to hesitate, glancing at his watch as if to check whether it was worthwhile going to bed instead.

Don't do it, Actor thought at him, but, when he needed it most, Garrison's ability to read his mind completely disappeared.

"Why not?" he said. "Let us see what _Herr_ Gardelli has to show us, eh, Leonzio?"

Actor could have told him why not, would have told him, if he could just have arranged to see him alone for a moment, but _Herr_ Gardelli – who was smirking – took Actor's arm and all-but-hauled him out of the room. "Bruno will bring the _Tifone_ to the front of the building in five minutes!" he called over his shoulder to Garrison. "Come, Leon. Help me choose the wine..."

 

Five minutes later, Garrison, immaculate again, joined them at the base of the steps. Bruno was waiting for them with the gently purring _Tifone_. So were Major Maehler's men, two motorcyclists and the driver with the German staff car. Actor had forgotten until that moment that he had ordered them to be there.

"Ah, good," Garrison said. "We will not need you, my friend," he told the car driver, "but you two will accompany us, heh? Protect us from the _banditos_?"

And, he might have added, me from Gardelli.

There was nothing Vincente could do but agree, though he protested that Carlo and Bruno would be along for just such protection.

"The more the merrier, eh?" was what Garrison said. "Perhaps there will be enough _banditos_ for all of them." It was perfectly in character, but showed a confidence in the others – and Actor – that was completely unjustified.

The spike was his only weapon. Effectively, their only weapon. If he used it and was seen, they would both die. He didn't dare take the risk.

Nor did he have any chance to speak to the German guards waiting on their motor cycles: a call to alert them would see them all dead.

Garrison took his place in the front passenger seat beside Vincente. Carlo sat beside Actor in the rear, while Bruno climbed up into the little dicky seat behind them, clutching a machine gun. Actor felt the car dip and wondered if it would actually move, but when Vincente let out the clutch it shot forward like a pigeon out of a basket and flew up the mountain road, leaving the motorcyclists struggling to catch up.

Vincente drove like a maniac. Actor, who had experienced both Casino's getaways and Chief's unique driving style, was terrified – and not only of the car's proximity to the edge of the road on the mountain hairpins.

He was under close surveillance: Vincente plainly did not trust him. Possibly his dismay at the other man's plan to murder Garrison had been obvious, despite all his efforts to hide it.

He had to warn Garrison that things were going wrong.

"If you look over there you will see the sun rise," he shouted, leaning forward with one hand on Garrison's shoulder, digging his fingers into the muscle in the deliberate rhythms of the triple beat of SOS.

"Then we will toast the dawn!" Vincente cried, sending the car into a long, dust raising slide which ended only a foot from the edge of the cliff. "Bruno, the Champagne."

Actor, his hand still on Garrison's shoulder, squeezed the letters D-R-U-G and let go hurriedly. It was all the warning he could give. Anything more elaborate and Carlo, watching them closely, was bound to notice. He had to trust to Garrison's wits – and a great deal of luck.

Garrison turned for a moment to give him a quick smile of reassurance. At least he had been alerted.

Then the cork flew out over the precipice and the wine bubbled into glasses. "Not for me," Garrison said, with a slight shudder. "My head is still spinning from last night."

"Nonsense," Vincente told him, placing a full glass in his hand. "Champagne is the perfect cure for a hangover. A toast, gentlemen. To the alliance of our countries and the defeat of our enemies."

There was no way that Garrison could refuse to drink to that.

Furthermore, Actor was in no position to nudge his elbow, even if the business end of Bruno's gun hadn't been lodged casually against his ear. Carlo's, held low, was pointed directly at the small of Garrison's back and the German motorcyclists, though they had finally noticed the car had stopped, were waiting up the road, no doubt taking the opportunity for a crafty cigarette. No help there.

Actor tossed off his wine, hoping to God it was undoctored, as Vincente and Carlo did the same. Garrison was only a split second behind them. Presumably, because he had also calculated the odds, and realised that, while he could draw his gun in time to take out Vincente and possibly Carlo as well, Actor would be dead before the weapon was clear of its holster.

Damn and damn and damn.

He did not, noticeably, drain his glass, and he made a face and shook his head at Vincente when offered a refill.

Who, worryingly, seemed satisfied. Just how much of that blasted drug had Vincente put in Garrison's wine?

He doesn't care if he kills him, Actor thought, as he watched the rose and yellow fill the valley between two theatrical peaks. But I already knew that. What I hadn't realised was just how desperately _I_ care.

 

As they continued on their way, Actor noticed Garrison put one hand to his head in a characteristic gesture of weariness or pain. He swayed slightly, shook his head a couple of times, then, quite suddenly made a little whimpering noise that Actor ought not to have been able to hear over the sound of the engine, and slumped down in the seat.

Vincente blew the horn.

The clatter of machine gun fire from just above his head sent Actor dropping into the space between the seats, even as Vincente hit the brakes. As soon as the car had completed its long slide and stopped with a jerk, Actor lifted his head, just in time to see one of the motor cycles and its rider describe matching parabolas over the edge of the cliff into the gorge below. The other German lay dead in the road, almost chopped in two by automatic fire, the wheels of his stranded machine still revolving.

Vincente was taking no chances. Now the Germans were dead both guns were fixed on Actor. Worse, Carlo's stayed pointing directly at his boss's "dear friend Leonzio" as Vincente and Bruno dragged Garrison from the car and draped him face-down over its hood.

"Bruno... get him out... of those pants," Vincente ordered, as he struggled to open his fly. Freeing his erect cock with a gasp of relief, he added, "I... we... ought to get in there... while its still warm, eh?"

Actor knew two things: that if he made any move he was dead, and that if Vincente raped Garrison there was no way he could let him live to boast of it. He had known from the start that Vincente's life was nothing when weighed against that of any of the team. What he hadn't realised was that his own weighed nothing against Garrison's honour.

He threw the spike the way Chief had taught him to throw a knife, a quick underhand flick aimed at Vincente's throat. Actor didn't see whether it hit as he dived for the ground and Carlo's gun rattled death.

Pain seared through his thigh and hip as more shots rang out.

Two guns?

It was all over too swiftly to be sure, and then there was silence, save for the sound of someone – and only one – person breathing heavily.

Actor lifted his head. The first thing he saw was Vincente, face resting on the sodden earth as blood poured around the bright metal protruding from his right eye. Bruno's body was sprawled behind him, eyes wide and staring in a twisted head that didn't seem correctly connected to his neck.

Garrison knelt between them, one hand pressed to the ground to steady himself, the other clutching his pistol. Actor didn't need to look to know that Carlo was also no longer alive.

It was then that the pain really hit, and the world – and Garrison – disappeared into a red haze.

When it faded back again, Garrison was crouching at his side. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"Not good." Actor had been amazed to find himself still alive.

"Got to get out of here," Garrison said. "Can you... get to the car... if I help?"

Actor nodded, and used the other man to pull himself to his feet, leaning all his weight on his good leg and Garrison's shoulder. Together, they managed a three-legged hop to the car, where Actor was quickly installed in the front passenger seat.

Garrison then made his way to the rear, holding onto the edge of the car in a way that would have worried Actor if he hadn't been so occupied coping with the agony which ran from his left knee to his waist, and came back with the linen table cloth from the hamper. This he ripped into strips and applied as a compress to the wounds in Actor's hip and thigh, taping them in place with surgical adhesive tape from the car's inadequate first aid kit.

It was rough and ready, but Actor was grateful for it. All the same, watching Garrison struggle with the tape, he could not resist saying, "Let me do that." Then, as Garrison stared at him. "How much of that stuff did you drink?"

Garrison shook his head hard. "Few sips... less than... half a glass."

There must have been enough in the glass to knock out a horse – certainly to kill a man.

Actor's hand closed on Garrison's arm. "Get... rid... of what's... left in your... stomach..."

"Was about to... Just let me finish this, okay?" He cut the last of the tape, then staggered away around the back of the car. Though he was out of sight, Actor heard the sound of retching.

It seemed to go on for a long time.

When Garrison came back, he was dragging the first of the bodies, which he heaved into the rear seat. Watching him retrieve the other two, Actor felt a rush of panic. His movements were so slow and uncoordinated. Several times, he crashed to the ground in company with the body he was dragging.

Too much sedative still in his system.

When he took his seat behind the steering wheel, he looked as white as Actor felt. He took several deep breaths, then glanced sideways at the conman. "We have to reach the others. Are you willing to chance it?"

Actor forced himself to grin. "Your driving can't be worse than Vincente's."

"I wouldn't bet on that."

 

By the time they had rounded the first bend, Actor was also having doubts. Garrison kept the car to a steady twenty-five in second gear, but even then it weaved from one side of the road to the other like a drunkard, as he fought to stay awake. Several times, Actor reached out to jerk the wheel around to put them back on course but his own vision kept blurring into greyness from pain and loss of blood.

Coming out of one of those intervals, he saw nothing but open sky ahead of them, and screamed at Garrison to stop.

They juddered to a halt with the front wheels on the lip of the cliff. Another foot and the gorge would have swallowed them.

Garrison's head dropped to rest on his outstretched arms, his knuckles showing white where his hands gripped the wheel. He looked sideways at Actor. "Sorry... If I drive any further, I'm going to get us both killed."

"Then get out of here, Warden. Just leave me one of the guns—"

Garrison blinked, taking a moment to think about it. "Suicide? Uhuh, Actor."

Actor leaned into the cool hand that now rested against his face. "Lieutenant, please, get out of here," he whispered. "Don't make it all worthless."

"Don't you dare give up on me, Leonzio. I can't carry you – you're too damn heavy – so you're going to have to help. Com'on, babe."

"An' I suppose... if I don't... you'll sit here... waiting for... Italian army..."

Garrison grinned. "You got it."

"Always... have to have... the last word..."

 

Once Actor was seated at the roadside, Garrison returned to the car. With a great deal of effort, he transferred Vincente's body to the front seat, and withdrew the spike from its eye. He cleaned it on Vincente's jacket, then gave it to Actor. "Souvenir," he said, rubbing the sweat from his brow with his sleeve as he caught his breath. "'Sides, when the Italians – or Germans – find the bodies... this... isn't consistent... with ... partisan attack."

Actor slipped the spike into the seam of his jacket sleeve, and watched as Garrison put the car carefully into neutral, released the brake, staggered to the rear and shoved. As if aware of its intended fate, the vehicle refused to budge. Finally, though, it grudgingly inched forwards until, with a rush, it plunged over the edge of the ravine.

Garrison, who had fallen to his knees when the car had shot away from him, crawled to the rim and looked down, despite Actor's admonitions to, "For God's sake stay back while you're in this condition."

He did, though, retreat about a foot before he rose carefully and walked in an absolutely straight line back to where Actor was sitting. "They're gonna take hours... to reach it," he said, with satisfaction.

"Could've been us," Actor pointed out. "As Goniff says, you're going to get me killed one of these days."

"Not today." Garrison offered his arm.

Actor gripped it tightly. "Shall we dance, Lieutenant?"

"I've been saving this one specially for you."

 

Actor had no idea of how long it was since they'd left the car, only that each step hurt abominably, that they had fallen half a dozen times, and that the only reason to keep going was that if he stopped, he'd lose the powerful arm about his waist and the warm body supporting him. Garrison was also carrying the guns, a bottle that he had rinsed and filled with water in a tiny stream, and some of the food from the hamper as well as Actor's weight. In his condition, it seemed unlikely he could keep doing this for long – but Actor wouldn't have given much for their chances of getting fifty yards, and he was pretty sure they'd gone further than that...

It had started to rain.

Suddenly, Actor slipped, and began to slide. He tried to let go of Garrison, but the other man came with him, twisting to put Actor on top of his body as they slithered down the slope. Their fall was finally broken by prickles and wood.

Both men lay still, breathing heavily. The air was full of the scents of sweat and pine. Some tiny part of Actor's mind, isolated by the pain, regretted that this was probably the only time he would lie in Garrison's arms, and that it should be without pleasure.

When he opened his eyes, the sky was masked by pine branches sweeping the gentle slope, protecting them from the rain and prying eyes.

"Rest—" Garrison gasped.

"Yeah," Actor sighed. He could hear Garrison's heart thumping irregularly against his ear.

Then Garrison moved out from under him. "You've started bleeding again," he said in alarm. "Just... let me get... this compress... changed."

Though he was gentle, the pain was too great. Thankfully, Actor retreated into darkness.

 

When he returned to the light, he could hardly breathe for the pain. Garrison was asleep beside him, one hand still holding the compress against the wound in his side, the sedative and his exhaustion plainly overcoming even his extraordinary will.

The intensity of Actor's feelings was almost more agonising than his wound.

If he'd had breath he'd've laughed for the irony of it.

He'd been the target of infatuation many times, used it to gain money, and sex, and power over others. Since he'd been obsessed with Vincente, all those years ago, he'd thought he'd become immune...

Even then, it hadn't been like this.

Such a stupid thing to do, to fall in love not just with a man, but with his commanding officer... And it was a love totally without hope; Garrison's instinctive reactions to Vincente's pass and his own revelations had shown him that. It was plainly the first time anything like that had happened to him...

School to West Point to war...

You tended to forget how inexperienced at some aspects of life Garrison must be.

The thought added compassion to Actor's weird mixture of feelings.

He wanted to reach out, rest his fingers in the damp hair, darkened to brown by the rain dripping through the branches, but was too weak even for that. Instead he lay and watched Garrison sleep, wondering if it would be for the last time.

All his perceptions of this man had changed in the last twenty-four hours. Until now he hadn't been able to make up his mind whether Garrison's face was handsome, ugly-attractive or plain ugly – he could look all three depending on the angle and the light and his expression.

Now...

He's just gorgeous. No wonder Vincente wanted him.

Actor wondered how much time had passed, and whether Vincente's car had been found. He hoped the Italians had been the ones to find it. If so, they would be slow to inform Major Maehler, at least until they had made sure that Volhard was, indeed, dead. That would mean searching the gorge for a body not there to be found. If they bought the partisan attack...

There was a chance that they would assume the partisans had taken Volhard and go looking for him.

"Damn."

At first he thought he'd spoken his thought aloud, but then Garrison opened one eye, and he knew it had only been their telepathy returning. Nothing new from Garrison, who grimaced, opened the other eye too, and sat up, taking a quick look at his watch as he did so.

"They'll have recovered the bodies by now," he said.

"They may still be looking for Volhard and Rondelli."

"Or they may have called in Maehler. At least you seem to have stopped bleeding and there's no infection..." He was checking the dressings as he spoke. "One of the slugs is still in there. I've got to get you to a doctor."

"What about you?" Actor asked.

"Me?" Garrison looked surprised. "I'm fine. Or will be when I've had some water. You first, though."

Actor didn't try to argue with him; his throat seemed full of sand, despite all the rain in the air. He even managed to eat a little bread softened in the water, mainly because Garrison looked so relieved at each bite.

Finally, the Lieutenant went out into the rain, filled the bottle from a pool in the rocks, and put it by Actor's hand. "I'm going to take a look around. Just stay here, okay?"

Actor managed a grin. "Where... d'you... think... I might go?"

Garrison's smile in return rocked his heart with its gentleness. "With you, who knows? Stick around, hear? I don't intend to be long."

Then he was gone, silently, into the rain.

 

When he returned, he was leading a tall and villainous looking mule, with what appeared to be a pile of old rugs or blankets heaped on its back.

"Where... the Hell... did you... get that?" Actor asked.

"Village. Couple of miles away."

"Lieutenant, you stole it!" Actor exclaimed in delight.

"Borrowed it," Garrison corrected, without any attempt at conviction. "Beggars can't be choosers, Actor. Meet your transport out of here."

Actor eyed the mule uneasily. It curled a lip in response. "My feet will drag on the ground."

"It's a side-saddle."

"What!?" Actor was outraged.

"No-one's likely to see you – at least, I hope to God no-one's going to see us, except from a distance – so stop worrying about your image."

The side-saddle was, in fact, very comfortable, though Actor's free leg dangled down near the mule's fetlock. The dark blankets draped over his head would keep the rain off and, according to Garrison, make him look like a little old lady.

Actor eyed him with much the same expression as the mule. "Nothing is going to make me look little, Warden."

"It's all a matter of scale," Garrison explained airily. "If we're seen from a distance, there'll be nothing much to compare us with except each other. They'll see the costume, assume you're female, and scale me and the mule down to match."

"Is that what they taught you at West Point?"

"That people see what they expect to see, yes."

"Mother of God, they're training con men! On my taxes—"

"Actor, you've never paid taxes in your life." Garrison tugged the mule's bridle. "Com'on, Casino."

Actor laughed so much at that he had to clutch the mule's bristly mane for support. Garrison put up a hand to steady him, but did not seem displeased.

 

Soon, though, when the initial rush of adrenaline had faded, Actor found nothing to laugh at. Each step the mule took speared his hip and side. The rain had stopped, but it made little difference. He was soaked with sweat, but shivering with cold, despite being bundled in Garrison's coat, and the blankets.

Now he just wanted to slide down from the saddle and let the pain – and his life – slip away in Garrison's arms. But Garrison wouldn't let him do that. Garrison had enough stubbornness for both of them, and Actor loved him for it, as well as for everything else. Vincente hadn't known the half of it. If he had, he would never have tried to enlist Actor's aid. But then Vincente had never known love, only lust...

Actor became aware they had stopped because the pain began to lessen. Garrison's hand still rested on his good hip, supporting him in the saddle, but on the ridge above them, perhaps fifty yards away, stood the grey-clad figures of Italian soldiers.

 _Merda._

If they had been Germans, they could have continued their impersonations, but the Italians would be looking for the partisans who had murdered Gardelli.

"I'll try to talk our way through," Garrison said softly. "Stay here." He dropped the mule's reins and made his way slowly towards the soldiers, hands raised.

Once he got close, Actor knew, the soldiers would see how tall he was, and then the mule would expand in their minds to its correct size, and so would the six foot four inch 'little-old-lady' riding it. Nor was Garrison's colloquial Italian good enough to pass muster as a local peasant. Their attempts at disguise would only raise suspicions that would eventually see them shot as spies.

There were only three of them. Garrison could take them, but not while the guns were still on him.

Carefully, Actor freed his left leg from the pommel, wincing as it pulled at the wound in his side. With difficulty, he turned the mule to face the soldiers, then took out the spike once again, and jabbed it hard into the animal's rump.

With a squeal of pain and rage it leaped forward, bucking like a bicycle descending stairs, and bolted straight at the soldiers. Actor stayed on for three bucks and two strides, just enough time to see the soldiers turn away and Garrison go for his gun—

The world exploded in pain then, mercifully, disappeared.

 

Actor was surprised to find himself alive. Even more surprised to find the pain had eased to a bearable ache, though he had a blinding headache – and Casino's loud presence – to balance the improvement.

"So you're back with us," the cracksman said, sliding a large and surprisingly gentle hand under Actor's head, and putting a glass to his lips.

It was water, but Actor gulped it gratefully anyway. "What happened?" he asked, as Casino eased him back down into the pillows.

A real bed. Astonishing.

"That's too clichéd to be dramatic. You took a slug," Casino said hurriedly. "A couple, in fact. Then banged your head. The Warden didn't give us any more details when he found us. The local partisans got you a doctor. We were just waiting until you woke up before we split."

"The Warden...?"

"Out arranging your transport. Get shot, baby, and you get to go first class."

 

His initial disappointment at Garrison's absence soon faded. Meeting Vincente again had thrown him off balance. Now he had time to think.

Of course he cared about Garrison, but love?

Just imagination.

Anyway, even if it wasn't, and he really did want him, there were a thousand ways to escape. A few women, and his body would forget, as it had forgotten Vincente in Juliette's embrace.

Hell, if necessary, he could take it on the lam.

He had settled all this to his satisfaction when Garrison walked in and smiled at him.

His heart somersaulted. Once again, he could hardly breathe, but now it was because he was drowning in eyes silvered by reflected sunlight.

"How're you feeling?" Garrison asked, leaning one arm on the whitewashed wall and looking down at him worriedly. "Well enough to travel?"

Somehow, Actor recovered his wits and his breath. "So long as it's not by muleback," he said. Then, "Thanks for getting me out alive."

"You saved my life too," Garrison pointed out, "and completed the mission, if not precisely the way we planned."

Actor winced, and not from his wounds or his headache. He had forgotten that Garrison now knew too much about his past to be comfortable with it. "Warden, I..." But there weren't any words to explain.

"It's okay," Garrison said. "Your secrets are all safe with me. Just, next time, trust me with the ones I need to know to keep us alive, okay?"

Next time.

Actor could think of no more wonderful words. "You're going to forget it?"

"What is there to forget? Everyone makes mistakes, Actor. Vincente was one of yours... but I don't think I've made a mistake in trusting you."

Relief surged through Actor: he was going to be allowed another chance. Now he'd been reawakened, he doubted that he would ever stop wanting Garrison – certainly would never stop loving him – but it didn't matter.

He was alive. He was staying with Garrison at least for the foreseeable future. The world was beautiful.

 

 

 _As a gale on the mountainside bends the oak tree  
I am rocked by my love._

 _Sappho_

 

The End


End file.
